


A Place to Start

by hayjolras



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:52:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayjolras/pseuds/hayjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Éponine takes on a new job at a coffee shop, which Cosette happens to frequent. Featuring Pride & Prejudice, Abbey Road, and, as always, blaming Grantaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place to Start

It’s cold.

It’s freaking cold. And it’s snowing, _and_ , not for the first time, Grantaire has forgotten to pick Éponine up after her shift at work. The brittle wind slaps her cheeks and chaps her hands, and she thinks that this is quite possibly the worst day ever. She tries to light a cigarette, but her fingers are chapped and stiff from the cold, and she can barely light the thing, let alone hold the cigarette in between her fingers. Frustrated and impatient, she ducks back into work -- the Musain -- for some relief from the cold.

She never thought, in her life, that she would be working in a coffee shop. But Courf owns the place, and he offered, and, well, to be completely honest, it seems a lot better than her last job, which was some sleazy old bar where men thought that tipping and slapping your ass and making sexual remarks were all the same thing. She quit and took up Courf’s offer the day she walked out of the bar, after a particularly gross middle-aged guy grabbed her around the waist and sat her on his lap. Today, actually, was her first day as Courfeyrac’s shop. Needless to say, this gig was a lot better.

“Back already?” Courf teases as she walks back in, scowling. “I thought you’d would’ve had enough of this place after one shift.”

“R forgot to pick me up -- _again_. I tried calling him ten times, but either he’s passed out, his phone isn’t with him, or it’s dead, or a combination of all three,” she replies, rubbing her arms to warm them up.

Noticing, Courfeyrac grins. “Go sit,” he suggests, “I’ll get you something to drink.”

Éponine raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“I’m not going to work you while you’re off the clock -- besides, Jehan’s here, too.”

“I’m not sure why that would comfort me, seeing as you two are dating and probably make out in the goddamn kitchen all the time.”

“Don’t be snarky,” Courf scolds playfully. “I’m your boss now.”

“And I could still take you out with one good right-hook. Remember that,” Éponine replies over her shoulder as she walks away, looking for a table. Only, it’s packed. Busier than it had been fifteen minutes ago, when she left.

She looks to her right and sees a small table, big enough for two, with one person occupying it. That one chair seems to be the only open spot in the room, and, though she’d rather sit and wait for Grantaire alone, Éponine knows that beggars can’t be choosers.

The occupant of the table is a girl about Éponine’s age. She’s reading a book with a pen in her hand, which she thoughtlessly twists around in her fingers. Her hair is in a loose braid, and she’s biting her lip in concentration as she turns the page of her book.

Éponine clears her throat audibly, feeling only a little sorry that she’s disturbing the girl from whatever she’s doing. She needs a place to sit, after all.

The girl looks up, pushing her glasses further up on her nose. “Hmm?” she says at first, and then, seeing Éponine, her mouth pops open slightly. “Hi, sorry -- do you want to sit here?” she asks, kicking the chair across from her out.

Éponine nods and sits. “Yeah. Sorry if I interrupted you, or anything.”

The blonde girl smiles and puts down her book -- _Pride and Prejudice_ , Éponine notes. “It’s fine. I’m just reading for uni, is all. It’s midterms time, so I’m trying to cram.”

Éponine nods. “Yeah, I know.”

“Tough on you, too?”

Éponine’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but then she realizes what the girl is saying. She thinks Éponine is at uni, as well. “Uh, no. I don’t go to university. Not really my thing. I have friends who go, though,” Éponine says. She’s unsure of why she’s tripping over her words until the girl smiles again.

That could be why.

“Sorry for assuming -- thanks for making me take a break, though. I’ve read this book five times over the course of the semester --”

“ _Five_ times?”

“I had to do a bunch of reports on it, and stuff. Anyway,” the girl continues, shaking her head. “I’m Cosette, by the way. Cosette Fauchelevent.”

“Éponine,” she replies at first, “uh -- Thénardier. Is it good? The book, I mean?”

Cosette nods and looks down at it, examining the cover. “It’s my favorite book, actually.”

“So good that you willingly read it _five times_ over one semester?”

Cosette grins from ear to ear as her cheeks turn a flustered pink. “Cheeky, huh, Éponine?”

Éponine can’t help but grin back. “Only if you want me to be.”

“Éponine is the cheekiest girl I know, whether you want her to be or not,” says Courfeyrac from behind her.

Éponine twists around and sees him standing with two cups in his hand. “Told you I’d get you something,” he says slyly, placing the white cup on the table. “I refilled your drink, too, Cosette -- it’s on the house.”

Cosette grins and lifts her cup. “Cheers. You know Courfeyrac?” she adds after he is gone, looking at Éponine curiously.

“Yeah. He’s a friend -- or, a friend of a friend -- oh, and he’s my boss. Starting today, anyway.”

Cosette’s mouth twitches. Éponine can’t help but notices how pink her lips are. “You work here?”

Éponine begins to respond, but she hesitates for a moment, and when she does, she hears the chime of the bell, a whoosh of wind, and twists again in her chair.

“Hi,” Grantaire says when he sees Éponine, approaching the table. “Don’t start,” he says before she can open her mouth. “I didn’t _forget_ to pick you up this time. I actually forgot that you started working _here_. I went to the bar, then waited for a few minutes and remembered, but traffic’s impossible with the snow --”

“It’s fine, Grantaire,” Éponine says. Her brush shocks Grantaire for a moment, but Éponine takes no notice. “I made a knew friend, besides. It was nice meeting you, Cosette. I’ll see you around.”

Cosette nods. “If you’re working here, I guess I will.”

Éponine isn’t sure if this means that they’ll just see each other because they’ll both be here at the same time, or that Cosette is going to make an extra effort to hang around here more, but she doesn’t question it. Instead, she grabs Grantaire’s hand and drags him away.

 

  *     *     *



 

Éponine wakes up early the next morning -- too early for her liking, especially considering that she couldn’t sleep all night, for several reasons. One reason, of course, would be because of the pretty blonde girl who will, quite possibly, come to the shop enough times that she knows she’ll see Éponine around.

The second and third reason are coming into the kitchen now, most likely awakened by the sound of the coffee machine.

Éponine sets out three mugs and glares at the boys in front of her. “If you’re going to stay the night, Enjolras, you two could at least give me the curtsey of _trying_ to be quiet.” She begins to fill his preferred mug -- a large, red one -- as her dark eyes bore into him accusingly.

Given his complexion, it’s impossible for Enjolras’s blush to not be seen against his pale cheeks. He’s so pale, in fact, that more than once Éponine has teasingly worried about losing him in the snow.

“He was trying, ‘Ponine, believe me,” Grantaire says, stifling a yawn as he pats Enjolras’s back approvingly.

Éponine stops filling his cup mid-way to give him the same look she gave Enjolras moments before. “Thank you for that _telling_ picture.”

“It’s certainly not as telling as you walking around in the morning without any pants on.”

“My legs are perfect, thank you very much. You should feel blessed that you get to see them every morning.”

Enjolras covers his ears dramatically. “All you two ever do whenever I come over here is argue.”

Éponine rolls her eyes. “All _you_ ever do when you come here is fuck.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then why doesn’t Grantaire just head on over to your place every once in a while?”

Enjolras blushes again and takes a hasty sip of his coffee -- black, just like how Éponine likes it. “I live with Combeferre, and you know he’s studying to become a _doctor_. He doesn’t like the disturbance.”

“Wonder what the ‘ _disturbance_ ’ could be,” Éponine mutters under her breath.

Grantaire lets out a hearty chuckle. “Don’t let her get to you, Enjolras. She just wants us out of the house so she can bring her new friend over.”

Enjolras looked vaguely interested as Éponine groans. “I just met her yesterday, Grantaire. And it was only because _you_ were late to pick me up.”

“Please. You should be _thanking_ me. She was cute, and I saw you getting all nervous --”

“I wasn’t _nervous_ \--”

“Cosette, was her name?” Grantaire teases as Éponine tugs her hair at the ends. “She sounds familiar, now that I think about it.”

“She might be a friend of Marius’s,” Enjolras chimes in.

“She knew Courfeyrac...but it’s whatever,” Éponine says, shaking her head to get herself out of the conversation, “it doesn’t matter. I’m going to be late for work -- rinse my cup out and pour it in the dishwasher, Grantaire.”

She makes her way to her room, but as she shuts the door behind her, she hears Grantaire shout, “You have off today, you dunce.”

And, goddamn it, he’s right.

 

  *     *     *



 

“I didn’t see you, the other day. I thought I would.”

Éponine looks up from the frappuccino she’s making and sees Cosette on the other side of the counter. There’s snow in her hair and a smile on her face, and she isn’t wearing glasses. It’s such a surprise that Éponine almost drops the unfinished drink.

“Yeah,” she says carefully as she gingerly puts the cap on the cup and writes the name of the customer. “I didn’t see you, either -- I mean, when I was working. We must’ve missed each other.”

“Too bad,” Cosette sighs, though her eyes twinkle. “But you’re here now.”

“I am. Do you -- well, obviously -- what do you want to drink?”

“Pumpkin spiced latte, please,” Cosette says. She waits while Éponine begins to make it.

“You can sit down, you know. I’ll call you when it’s over.”

“I know,” Cosette responds simply. “I’d rather be up here.”

Éponine doesn’t have a reply to that, so she doesn’t say much, though she knows Cosette is watching her make the drink, and it makes her beyond anxious. She hands her the drink when she’s done. Their fingers graze innocently, and it makes Éponine’s feet go numb.

Jehan comes up to her a few minutes later and begins to help out, taking orders while Éponine makes the drinks, until he says, “You can go on your break, if you want.”

“I know.”

Jehan raises his eyebrows. “No, I mean -- Courfeyrac told me to _tell_ you to go on your break.”

“Uh --”

“He’ll come out and push you out there if you don’t go -- just so you know,” Jehan adds, smirking as his eyes go to where Cosette is sitting -- the same spot as the first day that Éponine met her. “It’s very embarrassing and not worth it, if you ask me. Just go.”

“Not as embarrassing as you eyeing Cosette.”

Jehan laughs and rolls his eyes. “Go.”

So Éponine goes, feeling a bit disgruntled, like, since when did she ever let anyone tell her what to do? But Cosette’s there, reading her book and drinking her latte, and as much as Éponine wants to refuse, she can’t say no.

“Can I sit here?”

Cosette looks up and automatically grins. “You don’t have to ask, you know.”

Éponine hesitates, then pulls out her chair and sits. “How were your midterms?”

“Okay,” Cosette says, shrugging. “They were only this week, so at least they aren’t stretched out.”

Éponine nods to _Pride and Prejudice_. “You’re still reading the book, though.”

“I needed something to help relax me after the stress. Between this and a pumpkin spiced latte, I’m ready for the next half of the semester,” she replies, bringing the latte to her lips and meeting Éponine’s eye, winking encouragingly.

“I’ve never -- I’ve never had a pumpkin latte before,” Éponine feels compelled to admit. “Is it good?”

Cosette pauses and holds the cup out to Éponine. “Do you want to try?”

Éponine meets her eye again. “Are you sure? I might get my germs in it.”

They both laugh, but Cosette is still holding out the cup, and Éponine takes it willingly, giving her an excuse to touch Cosette’s fingers gain. The lid is stained the same light pink as Cosette’s lips.

She brings the cup to her lips and takes a short sip, but Cosette says, “You can drink more than that, you know,” so Éponine takes a deep sip. The latte slides right down her throat, but not before she can taste it. It’s not sweet, but it’s something -- something unfamiliar yet familiar. It tastes warm, like someone had just wrapped a blanket around her and sat her right by an open fireplace.

“Good, right?” Cosette says when Éponine swallows.

“Yeah, it’s really good. Thanks.”

“You can have the rest of it, if you want. I won’t be able to finish it,” Cosette says.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I have to go, anyway,” Cosette says apologetically, “I just wanted to drop in to get a pick me up, and say hi to you, of course, but I have another class in twenty minutes. So,” she says, getting up and putting her blue scarf around her neck. “I’ll see you soon, hopefully?”

This prompts Éponine to bite her lip, and then says “I’m off tomorrow, but I’m working on Saturday, from twelve to six.”

Cosette considers this. “I’ll be there,” she responds, and reaches out to give Éponine a quick hug, which Éponine returns. “And by the way,” Cosette says before she heads back out the door, “you make the best pumpkin lattes.”

 

  *     *     *



 

Saturday doesn’t come quick enough, but it does come eventually, and Éponine sees Cosette again, and she sits in the same spot and reads Pride and Prejudice until Courfeyrac has had enough of Éponine making puppy dog eyes at Cosette, and makes Éponine take her break.

And that how it goes for a few weeks. The snowy November gives in to an equally snowy December, and the girls meet each other, a few times every week, whether it be during Éponine’s shifts or after.

They talk about almost everything. Éponine knows by now that Cosette wants to be an art historian, and that her favorite place to visit in the world is the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, and that her favorite painter is Van Gogh. She’s visited the Palace of Versailles more times than she cares to reveal, but the architecture is too beautiful for her to not take the opportunity and go visit it in the summer.

“We can go, if you’d want to,” Cosette adds when Éponine admits that she’s never been. “It’s really breathtaking. Kind of creepy, when you consider the history, but it’s so, so beautiful. You can almost close your eyes and imagine yourself there, as part of the Queen’s court, or something.”

Éponine grins, knowing how much Enjolras (who has been spending more and more time at her and Grantaire’s place) would hate it. She, of course, agrees to go when the weather is warmer.

She, in turn, talks some about her childhood, talking a bit about her parents and why she chose to move away after she graduated from school, but mostly she talks about her sister and brother.

“Have you seen them since you left?”

Éponine shrugs. “A few months ago they both spent the weekend, but they’re so elusive, they kind of just show up when they want to. I’m hoping they’ll come around again for Christmas or New Year’s, though.”

“Could I -- could I meet them?” Cosette asks.

It’s such a strange question that it throws Éponine off for a moment. “Um, yeah. Of course you can. If you’re around when they are.”

Cosette smiles and gently kicks Éponine’s foot from under the table, and for the first time, Éponine thinks that maybe, just maybe, this might have a happy ending.

 

  *     *     *



 

“She’s into you,” Courfeyrac says one night after closing.

Éponine rolls her eyes as she scrubs down the table her and Cosette where just occupying. “Shut up.”

“She is! Right, Jehan?”

“Woah, don’t drag me into this,” Jehan says as he unties his apron. “Éponine could kick my ass.”

Courfeyrac frowns. “I could defend you.”

“She’d kick your ass, too.”

Courfeyrac gives a dramatic sigh. “I don’t know why you don’t believe me. Why would I make you take breaks when she’s around if I didn’t think she was into you?”

“Okay, one,” Éponine says as she strides past him, boots clunking on the wooden floor heavily, “you do not _make_ me do anything, boss or not. And two, Grantaire told me that all through high school you used to purposefully embarrass Marius in front of anyone he happened to like.”

Courfeyrac scoffs. “What’s life without a little fun?”

Éponine turns her attention to Jehan. “I don’t know why you’re dating him, Jehan. Clearly he gets some kind of joy out of humiliating people.”

“Oh, yes, I do,” Courfeyrac sing songs in response.

Éponine stops for a moment as Jehan tries to hide a giggle. She considers the table she’s cleaning, then puts down the rag and unties her apron. “I want a raise because of this. Also, I’m leaving. Don’t fuck on the tables, boys,” she says as she drapes her apron over the chair and collects her thing. “It’s unprofessional. And even if it wasn’t, it’s still really fucking gross.”

Their laughter rings in her ears as she steps out in the cold, early December night. She lights a cigarette and sighs.

Could they be right? Could she, perhaps, not be imagining the stolen glances, the playful banter, and the blush on Cosette’s cheeks whenever their eyes met? Could this silly, light friendship turn into something more?

Or is Éponine just caught up in the coffee shop, lost in the smell of whipped cream and blueberry muffins and the warmth and friendliness of the shop on these cold winter days?

She pinches herself lightly.

She's dreaming, but she still wasn’t exactly sure what that means.

 

  *     *     *



 

“Are you working today, or no?”

“No -- well, I was, but my shift ended a half an hour ago,” Éponine says as Cosette sits across from her. “Grantaire forgot to pick me up.”

“ _Again_?”

Éponine nods and crosses her arms. “Again.”

Cosette contemplates this for a moment, and then slips her phone out of her bag and checks it. “I could take you home, you know. If you wanted,” she says when she puts the phone away.

“You just got here.”

Cosette puts her gloves back on and gives Éponine a “so what” kind of glance. “It’s fine. I’ll just take my order to go.”

“You really don’t have --” she stops when Cosette stretches her arms out across the table and takes Éponine’s chapped hands into her gloved ones. “I know I don’t have to do anything. I _want_ to. Come on,” she says, getting up and taking her cup with her. “Before Grantaire realizes he left you behind.”

A few minutes later they’re in the car, with Cosette driving, and Éponine in the passenger seat, looking out the window. It’s a clear day, the first one in a while, but the sky still has that slightly glazed over look that tells her that’s it’s still as cold as the North Pole. She wouldn’t be too surprised if penguins came marching from around the corner.

“I like the cold weather, personally,” Cosette says as she makes a right.

“Because of the pumpkin flavored foods?”

“No. Okay, partly. But besides, it’s good weather for sweaters, and warm boots, and cute scarves and sweaters. And cuddling,” she adds as an after thought, giving Éponine a quick glance, which practically makes Éponine’s heart jump out of her chest and onto the dashboard.

“I don’t care either way. Too cold in the winter, hot as hell in the summer.”

“Never satisfied, are you?” Cosette teases.

“I am. Usually when I’m in bed. Sleeping. Then I don’t notice.”

Cosette laughs and rolls her eyes at Éponine. “You’re crazy.”

“Am not. That’s totally logical.”

“So, like, do you not eat Oreos because you don’t know if you like the cream or the cookie better?”

Éponine shakes her head wisely. “No. I just don’t have a favorite.”

“Liar,” Cosette sing songs. “ _Everyone_ has a favorite.”

“That’s like choosing between your children.”

“And parents don’t have favorites?”

“Like you would know,” Éponine volleys back. “You’re an only child. Besides,” she adds, turning her nose up, “my parents didn’t have favorites. They hated us all equally. It’s okay,” Éponine says when Cosette’s face falls, “you can laugh.”

Cosette keeps her eyes firm on the road. Her knuckles are white around the steering wheel and her lips are pursed. “I don’t think it’s funny. Not at all.”

“Well,” Éponine replies, putting her head back on the headrest, “you either laugh at it, or you spend the rest of your life crying and feeling sorry for yourself -- the apartment is right here -- yeah,” she says, and Cosette parks in a free spot.

She turns the car off and turns to Éponine. Éponine’s shocked to see that she’s practically crying, her blue eyes filled with tears. “I don’t -- I don’t think it’s funny at all -- I’m sorry,” she stops, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I just -- you’re so wonderful and _good_ , Éponine, and you get shit parents like that.”

Éponine isn’t sure what to do, if she should hug Cosette or take her hand or tell her to stop crying. Instead, she half shrugs. “Well, shit happens.”

“I’m sorry, Éponine. God, I hate being so emotional --”

“It’s fine,” Éponine says. Not because it’s the right thing to say, but because it really is fine. She doesn’t mind Cosette getting upset about it. She’s kind of being...protective. And it’s nice. “I don’t, like, miss them or anything. Just Azelma and Gav, but they check in every once in a while. Believe me, Cosette, it’s nothing to feel bad about. I’m a lot better off without them.”

“I can’t -- I can’t _imagine_ that. Being without my dad. You’re so brave, Éponine, you know that?”

Éponine shifts in her seat, trying to dissolve her discomfort at the word. “I don’t know if it’s brave, but, c’mon, you lost your mom when you were so young, and then getting adopted so quickly...surviving that kind of thing is pretty brave, too, don’t you think?”

Cosette thinks on this for a moment, and then half-smiles. “Yeah. When you put it that way...I just wish I could make it better.”

Éponine’s heart soars. “You already have, Cosette. You’re my -- wait, that’s so cheesy, I’m not going to say that.”

“Say what?”

“No, you know already,” Éponine says, shaking her head. “You’re my -- my friend. And it’s good. Really. It’s great.”

Cosette runs a nervous hand through her hair. “Thanks, Éponine. That really means a lot.”

They sit there in silence for a few moments. Neither girl wants to say goodbye so soon, but can’t think of anything else to say. Éponine, however, makes no move to leave, and Cosette doesn’t ask her to. Instead, they sit, watching the last of the surviving leaves on the trees dance in the wind. One leaf breaks off and flutters slowly, the wind bobbing it up and down, until it falls onto the wind shield.

Both girls observe it. It’s crimson, the way the leaves at the end of autumn should be.

“I like the cold because of that, too,” Cosette finally says, still glancing at the leaf. “The colors. They make the weather -- the cold weather -- they make it beautiful.”

“Well,” Éponine replies, her gaze going from the leaf to Cosette, “sometimes beautiful things come out of bad situations.”

Cosette’s cheeks turn as red as the leaf on her windshield. She turns to Éponine and smiles. “Yeah. I suppose they do.”

 

Minutes later, Éponine climbs up the stairs to her apartment, running her hand through her dark hair, feeling rather flustered from the conversation that just took place.

Grantaire is sitting on couch when she opens the door and walks past him. She says hello, but he doesn’t respond.

They don’t speak for fifteen minutes. Éponine is too wrapped up in her own little world, and Grantaire is waiting for Éponine to start yelling. When she doesn’t, he breaks the silence.

“So?”

Éponine starts at the noise startled. “Wha -- so what?”

“Are you not going to yell at me for forgetting to pick you up?”

Éponine scrunches her face in thought. Then she remembers. “Oh. Yeah, you _did_ forget, didn’t you?”

“I _could_ have,” he replies, and watches Éponine go off to her room, “or maybe,” he adds before she shuts the door, “maybe, I forgot on purpose.”

 

*     *     *

 

It’s two weeks before Christmas, and the day proves to be a stormy one. The clouds are grey and menacing, and slushy snow is everywhere, making it less of a winter wonderland out side, and more of a mess inside the shop.

But that doesn’t stop Cosette from crashing in the afternoon, while Éponine, Courfeyrac, and Jehan are all attempting to put up the last of the Christmas decorations.

“Need any help?” Cosette asks when she spots Éponine at the window.

She’s on a ladder, attempting to string up Christmas lights, but failing. When one side goes up, the other goes down. “Yeah, actually. Can you string up the other side of lights -- over there? There’s the ladder right there.”

Cosette helps Éponine, and they both turn the colorful lights on together, grinning at each other, pleased with their accomplished work.

“I came here to say ‘bye, for now,” Cosette says as she follows Éponine to the Christmas tree and helps to put up decorations.

Éponine peeks around from behind the tree, her stomach twisted in a knot. “Where are you going?”

“Home. It’s break, so I’m going back to my dad’s house. I’ll be back in the middle of January, though. I know it’s kind of long, but I just wanted to say Merry Christmas. And I have your gift for you.”

Éponine laughs. “I’ve brought your present in every day since I got it, hoping you would show up.”

Cosette smiles and looks down at the floor. “That’s cute. And give me a second,” she says as she opens her bag, pulling out a rather large gift bag with a chubby, smiling Santa on it. “There’s a couple of things in there -- I made some of them -- most of them, actually.”

Éponine takes the bag and pulls out the spare green and red tissue paper, then takes out the first gift. It’s long and red and soft.

“Did you make this?” Éponine asks, wrapping the scarf around her neck. It clashes with her brown jacket, but she takes no notice.

“Yeah -- there’s matching gloves and a hat in there. I thought red was a nice color on you.”

Éponine pulls out the hat and gloves, and, upon inspection, realizes that they’re the same color as the leaf on Cosette’s windshield just days before. “This is really. This is really sweet, Cosette,” she says, but Cosette nods her in encouragement.

“There’s one more gift in there.”

Éponine pulls out the rest of the tissue paper and pulls out what looks like a book. And it is a book, with a painting of a pretty girl in an old-fashioned dress adorning the cover. Éponine turns it in her hands, astonished. “It’s your favorite book, though,” she says to Cosette, who grins, pleased at the reaction.

“I know. But I thought it was time to pass it on to someone else.”

“So you’re giving it to me.”

“Clearly.”

“Cheeky, aren’t you, Cosette?” Éponine replies.

Cosette laughs at the familiarity of the words. “Yeah. So. That’s it. Merry Christmas, Éponine.”

“Wait, not yet. I have to give you your gift first. Okay, so,” she says after she’s gone to the back to retrieve Cosette’s present, “it’s actually kind of funny, I guess, because you gave me one of your favorite things, and I gave you one of mine.”

Cosette takes the small present Éponine hands her. It’s red with dancing Christmas trees. “Nice wrapping paper.”

“Shut up, Cosette, and open the damn present.”

Cosette chuckles and rips the paper apart, and looks at the CD in her hands. It has four men walking across a road in a line, one right after the other.

“It’s my favorite Beatles album,” Éponine explains as Cosette opens the case. “It’s a little scratched, probably -- it’s the first CD I ever bought -- okay, well, I stole it, but it was the first one I _obtained_. Do you like it?”

“Like it? I love it! I love The Beatles! And ‘Here Comes the Sun’ is on here. That’s my favorite song.”

“Is George your favorite? I had a feeling,” Éponine says. She tries to look like it’s not a big deal, but she’s ecstatic that Cosette likes it so much, and she can’t contain how thrilled she is.

“Yes! You know me so well,” Cosette says, throwing her arms around Éponine.

Éponine is stuck frozen in shock for a moment, but hugs Cosette back, just as tightly. She feels Cosette’s lips somewhere near her ear, and then she whispers, “Let me guess -- is Ringo your favorite?”

Éponine laughs and breaks off the hug, holding Cosette at arms length. “You know me so well. He’s so under appreciated.”

Cosette bites her lip and shakes her head. She looks as excited as Éponine feels. “Merry Christmas, Éponine.”

“Merry Christmas, Cosette.”

 *    *     *

 

Christmas is a rather uneventful event. Combeferre and Enjolras invite Éponine, Grantaire, and the rest of their friends to spend Christmas Eve with them, but they all wind up getting drunk and staying until the morning of Christmas day. This, however, has been the normal tradition for years, right down to Combeferre nursing everyone’s hangovers.

The only thing different this year is that Éponine _doesn’t_ spend Christmas getting drunk. 

“Come on, Éponine,” Grantaire says for the 100th time. He’s ben drinking since they arrived five hours earlier. “It’s Christmas. Stop reading and come over here.”

“Kind of busy, Grantaire.”

“Yeah -- reading.”

“Shut up and let her read the goddamn book, Grantaire,” Courfeyrac says, nudging him slightly in the elbow. “It’s _important_.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his beer. “Christmas is a time for _family_.”

“Then we’re one pretty fucked up family, R,” Éponine responds dryly, turning the page and ignoring whatever else Grantaire has to say about her reading habits.

 

*    *     *

 

She feels strange without Cosette. It’s a few days after Christmas, just two days before New Years, and Éponine sets the book down to call Cosette.

She knows why Cosette likes it so much. It’s well written and fairly romance-y, what with everyone proposing and being proposed to and running off and breaking hearts; with the exception of Darcy, who’s a total ass hat, and Elizabeth, who seems like she never wants to get married or have to deal with men at all (Éponine silently approves of this), everyone seems to be in one confused courtship cluster fuck. It’s comical and tragic, and, strangely, kind of beautiful.

She calls Cosette’s phone, but it rings and rings and rings until it goes to voicemail. Éponine hangs up, frustrated. This isn’t the first time she's called, or the second or third, but Cosette hasn’t picked up, and she hasn’t called her back. In fact, she hasn’t heard from Cosette since they exchanged Christmas presents.

Is it possible Cosette could have forgotten about her, maybe lost her phone? But that couldn’t be -- she _did_ know Marius, and Marius had mentioned on Christmas that Cosette had called him to see if he still had one of his text books so she could use it for the next semester...

It was possible, then. They’d only been friends for a few months. Actually, not even two, as they met in mid-November. But this just seems so...out of character for Cosette, who’s polite and thoughtful and cries about the shittiness of other people’s lives.

Éponine lies on her bed and props the book on her stomach. Should she keep calling, or just wait until Cosette’s next semester starts?

Her thoughts are interrupted by Grantaire walking into her room. “Hey, I was wondering if you want to -- oh, never mind,” he says, turning and walking out.

Éponine sits up. “Wait. What’s so, ‘oh’?”

Grantaire walks back in and sighs, gesturing at the book. “You’ve been glued to that book since Christmas.”

“Yes, I do enjoy reading. What a shocker.”

“You’re infuriating when you’re in love.”

“I’m not in _love_ \--”

“You’re right,” Grantaire answers back sarcastically. “You just gave the girl your favorite CD because you _moderately_ tolerate her.”

“It doesn’t matter. She hasn’t answered my calls since she left for her house, so, whether I like her or not...”

Grantaire sighs and sits on her bed. “I’m sorry, Éponine. Love sucks.”

“I know.”

“Are you coming to Courfeyrac’s New Year’s Ever Party, then?”

Éponine shrugs. “I guess. It’s not like there’s anything else to do.”

“Good. It’s better than sitting around and spending the New Year moping. You know what they say about New Years -- the way you spend it is the way you year is gonna be.”

“Thanks for the encouragement, Grantaire.”

“I don’t know if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

“...to be totally honest, neither do I.”

 

*    *     *

“Éponine,” Grantaire says quietly, sitting next to her on the floor, “will you _please_ put that book down and come over to the festivities? I’m getting a headache just looking at you.”

Éponine puts her finger in the book to mark the page she’s reading. Then she holds up her other hand. “No. I’m almost done with it, anyway.”

“I don’t care if you’re almost done reading all of _Dante’s Inferno_. It’s New Year’s Eve! Have fun, get drunk, and don’t,” he says, leaning in and getting right in her face, “think about Cosette.”

She pushes him away and scoffs. “I’m not thinking about Cosette.”

“Of course not. You’re just reading the book she gave you for Christmas -- not to mention you’re _wearing_ the scarf she knit you --”

“Shut up, R. I’ll put the book down when it’s ten to, okay?”

Rolling his eyes, Grantaire says, “Fine, but you don’t have much time -- only, like, forty minutes.”

“Whatever,” Éponine replies, and curls up tighter, ready to, hopefully, finish the book before she had to put it down and join her friends. She’s at the part where Darcy goes to Elizabeth’s father to ask consent for the marriage, which seems dumb, in Éponine’s opinion, as if Elizabeth couldn’t consent herself. Éponine herself would never marry anyone who thought they had to ask anyone but herself for consent to marry. It’s too old-fashioned for her taste, she decides, turning the page to read further. Only, as she does so, she sees a folded note fall from the page into her lap.

For a moment, she considers ignoring it, thinking that it’s simply something for last semester that Cosette wanted to have handy, but every opinion she has about this book, Éponine knows, in in the margins themselves. So her curiosity gives way and she opens the note.

Cosette definitely wrote it. The neat but loopy handwriting gives it away.

_Éponine_ , it reads, _in the words of Mr. Darcy, “you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” Meet me in front of the café a half an hour before the New Year. Please. - Cosette_.

Éponine’s hands begin to shake as she reads the note over again, and then again.

Cosette wants to see her.

Tonight.

Éponine looks at the clock beside her.

Cosette wants to see Éponine.

In ten minutes.

She jumps up, taking the book with her to Grantaire.

“I’m leaving,” she says, prompting Grantaire to practically jump out of his skin.

“Jesus Christ, you scared me -- wait, you’re leaving? C’mon, Éponine, you said you’d stay.”

“No -- I have to go, Grantaire.”

“Éponine, it’s a half an hour to midnight. Can it wait?”

“What? No -- Grantaire, just -- trust me on this one, okay?”

“Éponine, I --” Grantaire starts, but he’s interrupted by Courfeyrac who walks up to them, looking from one to the other.

“Ah, Éponine. Nice of you to join us.”

“Not now, Courfeyrac. I’m leaving -- even if _you_ don’t want me to, Grantaire.”

Courfeyrac now glances at Grantaire in an uncharacteristically stern fashion. “Why?”

“I -- I just don’t want you to be all by yourself on New Year’s, is all. I feel bad.”

Éponine starts to reply, but stops, seeing Courfeyrac’s gaze on her. “What?” she snaps, and Courf’s eyes go wide, as if he’s understood something.

“Don’t put up a fight, Grantaire. You know she does what she wants anyway, whether we like it or not.”

Éponine gives Grantaire a smug, victorious look as Grantaire sighs and puts down his drink. “Do you want me to drive you?”

Éponine eyes the beer bottle. “Are you joking? No. But I need your keys.”

“I --”

“The keys, Grantaire. You owe me, for all those times you forgot to pick me up.”

Grantaire knows she’s right, so he simply sighs and reaches in his pocket for them, pulling them out and handing them to Éponine.

She shoots out the door, but not before Courfeyrac grabs her wrist and stops her.

“What is it?”

Courfeyrac bites his lips, trying to hide a smile. “Tell Cosette I said, ‘hi,’ okay?”

Éponine’s eyebrows shoot up. How could Courfeyrac possibly know where she’s going? “I--okay.”

 

*     *     *

 

The streets are pretty clear, being New Year’s Eve and all, but Éponine finds herself still speeding to the coffee shop, praying there aren’t any police around to stop her and give her a ticket. She’s pretty sure her license expired about two months ago. The book with the note tucked inside is sitting on the seat next to her, sliding from side to side whenever she makes a sharp, unexpected turn. She’s never been more frantic in her life.

She finally turns onto the street where the Mussain is, but, much to her confusion, the shop isn’t dark. It’s actually occupied, or looks to be that way. No one appears to be inside, but all the lights are on, including the ones Cosette helped her pin up across the window, and the ones on the Christmas tree.

Éponine parks the car and get out, wrapping her jacket protectively around her. She knows, somehow, that she’s meant to go inside. So she opens the door quietly, but it still triggers the bell from above. It trinkles, and Éponine waits as a figure emerges from the kitchen.

It’s Cosette. She’s wearing a dark blue sweater and dark wash jeans, and when she sees Éponine, her face splits into the widest smile Éponine has ever seen her wear.

“You, uh, you know,” Éponine says, holding the book up, “Elizabeth rejects Darcy the first time he proposes.” She puts the book down on the nearest tables and watches as Cosette approaches her.

“I know,” Cosette responds, blushing, “but, um -- _shit_. This went a lot smoother in my mind.”

Éponine wants to reach out and take her hand, but refrains. “You, um. You wanted to tell me something.”

“About how I feel.”

They stand there awkwardly for a moment, looking each other up and down, but Cosette finally speaks, an idea occuring to her. “I -- hold on.”

She walks away and goes behind the counter, and Éponine waits, her ears perking up when she hears music start playing.

“ _Something in the way, she moves...attracts no other lover_...”

Cosette reappears, still smiling. “It’s your CD.”

Éponine nods. “I know.”

“I -- I want to tell you...but, maybe showing you will work, too,” Cosette says. She walks to Éponine slowly, then reaches one arm out, then the other, and wraps them around Éponine’s neck. “Put your hands on my waist, please,” she whispers so Éponine, who obliges, resting them just above Cosette’s hips.

She tries to lead, but Cosette won’t let her, and they sway back and forth in time to the music, resembling two dressed down teenagers at a prom.

“How did you get all of this done?”

“Courfeyrac gave me the keys when I told him the plan. I thought -- I thought you weren’t going to read the book,” Cosette admits, picking her head up from Éponine’s shoulder.

“Of course I read it. You gave it to me, didn’t you?”

“I -- yeah, I did.”

They press their foreheads together and pull each other closer, holding each other tight.

“Is this what you wanted to tell me?” Éponine teases quietly. “That you wanted to dance with me?”

“No, of course not. Well, I do, but -- Éponine,” Cosette stops, and bites her lip. “I...you know when you first meet a person, and it’s like, the most random encounter, but you know, somehow, that that person is supposed to be in your life?”

Éponine thinks on this for a moment, then realizes this is exactly what she’s been thinking since she first met Cosette. “For someone who was too nervous to tell, you’re pretty good with words.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious. I thought -- this whole time,” Éponine says, trying not to laugh, “I thought you’d forgotten about me, over Christmas.”

Cosette shuts her eyes. “No! Of course not. I only didn’t answer your calls because I wanted this time to be the next time I talked to you. I could _never_. Ever. I could never forget about you, Éponine. I,” she says, stopping, then starting again. She looks straight into Éponine’s eyes, and Éponine thinks her knees won’t hold her up much longer. “I love you, Éponine. I love you, and I was afraid if I talked to you before now, I’d say it and ruin tonight. So I didn’t. But now I did. And...I love you.”

Éponine is so happy she feels like she could run back to Courf’s house and kick Grantaire’s ass. Except she doesn’t want to. She wants to stay right here. She wants to stay wherever Cosette stays, sleep wherever she sleeps. Where Cosette goes, she wants to be able to follow.

“God,” Éponine says, pulling Cosette even closer than she already is, “I was hoping, so much -- so hard. I love you too, Cosette. I’ve loved you since the very first day.”

Cosette puts her hand to Éponine’s cheek. “Me too, Éponine. Me too.”

Then she leans in and kisses Éponine, running her hands through her dark hair, and Éponine kisses her back. It’s sweet and gentle at first, with Cosette nibbling teasingly on the top of her lip, and Éponine swears she can taste pumpkin latte on her breath, but the thought quickly slips out of her mind as Cosette breaks away, breathing heavy, lips full and red, eyes dark with desire, and pulls Éponine in again, kissing her harder. Éponine responds with equal enthusiasm, and somewhere down the street, people’s cheers and noisemakers and crackers can be heard as the New Year rings in.

The girls break apart again, chest heaving, hands tangled in hair.

“It’s the new year,” Cosette whispers triumphantly, kissing Éponine again.

“Mm -- I know,” Éponine responds in a hoarse voice when Cosette’s lips leave hers, though they still hover slightly over her own. “You know what they say about the new year?”

“How you spend it is how you’ll spend the year,” Cosette mutters, taking Éponine’s hands in her own and kissing them.

Éponine smiles and looks at Cosette, whose chest is still heaving, probably half from excitement and half, still from the kiss. Her eyes still look hungry, but they’re hopeful too, and Éponine knows that she must look the same.

Because finally, finally, she gets a happy ending.

They get a happy ending, _together_. 

And the best part is, this particular end is just the start.


End file.
